


Rebel Scum

by MakeNoiseMan



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeNoiseMan/pseuds/MakeNoiseMan
Summary: A look at the Empire from the perspective of one tiny cog in the machine.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. TK 226

_“How long until I see you again, Dad?”_

_“Only a few months. It’ll fly by, you’ll join me in no time.”_

_“But that’s so far away. I’m going to have to report to your post.”_

_Jerek's brow furrowed. “Pardon?”_

_“Report to your post,” his five-year-old answered. “Report to your post.”_

At once, Jerek became painfully aware of the durasteel slate upon which his body rested. Lifting his head from the stuffed sack that passed for a pillow, he swivelled into a seated position on his bunk and rubbed his eyes.

“Report to your post. Report to your post.”

The electronic voice was automated. There was no one speaking to him. Jerek thought the alert superfluous; his garrison on Corellia had made due without such incessant prompting.

 _But you’re not on Corellia anymore._ He grimaced as he stood and stretched, feeling each pop as his joints loosened and then he crossed the room to the refresher. _You’re in the big leagues, now. Or so they say._

Indeed, the new position he’d accepted had been described to him as one of great honour; an incredible opportunity to serve the most prestigious military base in the galaxy. Unsurprisingly, the truth had been embellished.

The Death Star was impressive, no question. It was colossal, easily the biggest space station ever built. It’s spherical shape gave it the semblance of a small moon, ominously orbiting planets as if it were the watchful eye of the Emperor himself. On the inside, it was the very model of Imperial sanitation standards; the floors gleamed, the viewports were polished and there was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. The Death Star was a something of a metaphor for the Empire itself: huge, immaculate, and as soulless as a droid.

Jerek splashed water over his face and dried himself with a towel. Stray droplets peppered his pressure suit, rolling down the unyielding black fabric like rain on plastoid. All stormtroopers slept in their pressure suits, just in case they needed to spring into action with little notice.

_Not that there’s much chance of that happening here._

Jerek fetched a nourishment bar from a compartment above the refresher and returned to his bunk, chewing while he pulled his armour trunk out from underneath. Yes, the Death Star had been as grand as promised, but the initial impact of the sheen and polish had quickly faded. All that remained now was the sobering reality that serving here was _boring._

Unlike the Death Star, Corellia had been dangerous. Its crowded cities were rife with petty crime and violence. Back then, Jerek’s wife Brie would thank the Maker each day he came home safely from work. Not until he had left the perilous excitement behind did Jerek realize how much he had actually craved it.

He unlatched his trunk and it opened with a hiss. His white, plastoid armour was stored neatly inside. Unpacking it onto his bunk, Jerek marvelled yet again at how clean it was. On Corellia, most troopers’ armour was weathered with dirt, grime and scorch marks. It was not so on the Death Star; here, nothing less than reflective would suffice.

He stepped into his thigh guards and felt the faint release of air as they vacuum-locked to his legs. He was actually beginning to think that the stormtroopers’ presence here was more for show than for protection. Everyone on board was either employed by the Empire or related to someone who was. There was no crime, no danger anywhere to be found. Jerek carried his E-11 blaster rifle every day and, in the two standard months since he arrived, had never once fired a shot on duty.

 _Things will be better once Brie and the kids get here._ At least then he’d have his family to distract him from the monotony.

He felt the familiar embrace of his chest piece closing snuggly over his pectorals. Securing his ammunition belt to his abdominal plate, he holstered his E-11 and lifted his helmet up off the bunk. Catching his own reflection in the green lenses, he noticed that the creases in his face seemed deeper than he remembered.

_Assuming I don’t die from boredom before they get here._

He lowered the bucket over his head, rotating it into place. As he did, he felt the inner seal adhere to his pressure suit, closing him off completely from the outside world. His earpieces crackled and then chimed as his audio systems came online. Stepping towards the exit, the door automatically slid up and out of sight with an electronic whir.

In the corridor just outside his bunk, roll call was about to begin. On either side of him, armoured stormtroopers were stepping into line for inspection, each as spotless as he was. Nearby stood Jerek’s lanky lieutenant, arms crossed over his perfectly pressed uniform and foot tapping impatiently. When everyone was still, he shouted shrilly, “Sound off!”

In sequence, the troopers announced their identification numbers. The Empire cared little for names, electing instead to assign every soldier an alpha-numeric code. Besides stripping them of their individuality, it served to remind everyone of just how disposable stormtroopers were.

_As if that matters on this cushy space station._

“Tee-Kay Two-Twenty-Six, reporting.”


	2. Fear Will Keep Them in Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerek and his comrade speculate about the Death Star.

“They look like birds when they’ve landed.”

Jerek glanced to his side. The trooper next to him hadn’t appeared to move, but the voice was hers. “Say again?”

“The Lambda shuttles,” she clarified, her expressionless helmet turning slightly in his direction. “I’ve never really noticed how much they look like birds. The way their wings fold up and their stubby, little feet come out when they land.”

Jerek turned his attention back to the white, three-winged Imperial shuttle that had recently docked in the hangar below. From their post, he and his comrade had a clear view of the entire shuttle bay. The white ship was the only one docked here at the moment.

“Yeah,” Jerek granted. “I guess they do.”

The Lambda-class T-4a shuttle was the Imperial standard for transporting valuable goods and high-ranking personnel. Steam began to spew out from underneath the ship as the exit ramp lowered. From across the hangar, a black-uniformed officer led eight stormtroopers in a quick march toward the shuttle, whereupon they arranged themselves in two neat rows of four on either side of the ship. The officer waited at the base of the ramp with his gloved hands clasped behind his back. 

“Must be someone important,” the trooper next to Jerek speculated. “That’s a lot of guns.”

“But not too important,” Jerek returned. “They filled the whole hangar with troops for the Grand Moff.”

“The suits sure do value ceremony.”

Jerek had been on duty with this soldier before. Four-Sixteen, he thought her number was. He didn’t know her true name, nor did she know his. Names inevitably led to attachment, and there wasn’t much sense in getting attached to the other cannon fodder. At least, there hadn’t been on Corellia.

The new arrival was stepping down the exit ramp now. From this distance, Jerek couldn’t make out the details of his face, but he was clad in the same, creaseless uniform as every other officer on the Death Star. He also wore a brimmed cap and a collared, knee-length coat over his shoulders. The man waiting for him saluted stiffly, and then pivoted to walk alongside his superior as they left the bay. The eight stormtroopers marched behind them, leaving the flight crew and engineers to tend to the shuttle.

“ _Shab_ , you could say the same about this whole station,” Sixteen went on. “It’s all for show, just something huge to remind the galaxy of who’s in charge.”

Jerek considered it. “The giant laser cannon might disagree with you there.”

Sixteen’s helmet turned his direction again. “Oh, come on. It’s a scare tactic, nothing more. That’s why you can see it from a parsec away. What need could they possibly have for a gun _that_ big? The Navy is already more than capable of handling pirates and terrorists.”

Jerek had actually heard that the Death Star’s super-laser would be potent enough to destroy entire _planets_. This could easily have just been propaganda, mere rumours spread around to boost Imperial morale, but Jerek had seen the laser dish with his own eyes when his transport had brought him in to dock three standard months ago. It was _enormous_. 

All the same, Sixteen had a point. A weapon that powerful would cost the Empire a fortune, and so far not even the so-called Rebel Alliance had been able to muster enough firepower to make even a dent in Imperial rule. Why go through all the trouble and expense when there was no actual need?

Jerek concluded that Sixteen was right. A charade could be just as powerful as the real thing if you never had to pull the trigger. In the Empire, image really was everything. 


	3. More Machine than Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerek encounters Darth Vader for the first time.

Jerek hadn’t expected the words to chill him as they had. A decade of front-line service had fashioned him into a very difficult man to scare and yet, when his crackly, in-helmet comm chimed and the dispatcher spoke, a shiver ran down his spine.

“Be advised, Lord Vader is en route to meet with Lieutenant Watts. He will arrive in five minutes.”

Jerek was standing rigidly beside the durasteel door that led to Lt. Watts’s office. Herealized that his grip on his E-11 blaster had tightened and silently chastised himself for being so anxious. Jerek ventured a glance at the trooper standing on the opposite side of the lieutenant’s door. If the other soldier had had any reaction to the transmission, it had been concealed beneath his frowning, plastoid bucket.

Darth Vader was a being that Jerek knew only by reputation, but the stories that followed his name were enough to command respect and fear across the entire Imperial military—even way back home on Corellia. All he knew for certain was that Vader was the right hand of the Emperor, and that everyone but the Grand Moff fell under his authority. 

The rumours went much further, however. They painted Vader as a figure of myth, a supernatural warrior who could crush a foe without so much as lifting a finger. Some said he was formerly a member of the mystical, abolished Jedi Order. Others claimed Vader was not actually a man at all, rather an unprecedented brand of combat droid who could simulate the use of magic by technological means. Whatever the truth, it was clear that he was not someone whom you wanted to cross. 

Before long, Jerek could hear the distant whine of a turbo-lift approaching from far above. Shortly thereafter, the shaft at the end of the corridor breathed a heavy, motorized sigh as the turbo-lift within slowed to a halt. The tube opened with a hiss, and the being who could only be Darth Vader stepped out and strode down the hallway toward them.

Jerek had never thought to imagine what Vader looked like, but even if he had, Vader’s actual image would have shattered his expectations. He was as tall as a Wookie and clad head-to-toe in black. He wore heavy leather gauntlets and guarded, knee-high boots. His face was hidden behind an ebony helmet with circular, emotionless eyes, and a thick, black cape billowedout behind him as he approached. A deep, rasping breath pierced the air as he walked, suggesting that his mask doubled as a respirator. 

Despite all of this, it was not his appearance that was most striking about him. It was the way the space around Jerek seemed to cool immediately, as if Vader had somehow drained all of the heat from the area. Jerek suddenly felt very small.

As Vader neared the door, Jerek regained enough sense to bow his head stiffly and step aside, allowing his superior passage. Vader did not wait for the lieutenant's permission. Instead, as the automatic door slid up and out of sight, Vader entered Watts’s office without breaking stride.

Hearing the startled lieutenant begin to blather in a fluster made Jerek realize that Watts had not been informed of Vader’s visit.

“My Lord! Ah, I, uhm—I was expecting a holo-transmission—”

The rest of Watts’s sentence was cut off by the mechanical hush of the hatch sliding shut. However, to Jerek’s surprise, he could still hear Vader’s response. Even from behind the sealed, metal door, Vader’s low and resonant voice carried down the hall, losing only a touch of its edge as it passed through the durasteel.

“I felt a face-to-face meeting would better emphasize the importance of what I have to say, Lieutenant.”

Jerek couldn’t make out Lt. Watts’s words, instead hearing only muted babbles of compliance.

“A prisoner of utmost concern is being delivered to your detention block,” Vader continued. “I want you to double your surveillance staff for the duration of her stay.”

Watts stammered something that sounded like a question.

“I do not trust that the Rebels will not attempt to reclaim her,” Vader went on. “Unlikely as that may be, I want your assurance that your soldiers can keep her where she is.”

Watts answered quickly, spewing out affirmative sounds.

“Good,” Vader replied, and then the corridor fell silent. Jerek felt a rush of cold air across his feet and ankles. His ears started to pulse strangely. He thought he could hear a deep rumbling, but from where, he couldn’t say. He heard something else, too; something strained and scratchy from inside the office.

_Is Watts … choking?_

“Failure in this will not be tolerated, Lieutenant,” Vader’s voiced boomed again in low monotone, rousing Jerek from his bewilderment. “I trust you will remember that.”

Jerek heard a loud thump as if something was dropped in the office behind him, punctuating Vader’s last words. A moment later, the hatch opened again with a sharp hiss and a _woosh_. Vader strode out and past Jerek, his black cape flowing and nearly spanning the width of the corridor. Vader’s deep respirations echoed throughout the hall, but as the turbo-lift carried him away, Jerek and the other soldier were left with the lieutenant’s own rasping breaths and coughs.

Jerek glanced over at his comrade again. He had been motionless for the entire encounter and remained so now. Jerek resumed his attentive stance, adjusting his feet and squaring his shoulders. He heard the lieutenant struggle to take one more ragged breath before the hatch slid shut a final time. 

_Sometimes being at the bottom of the ladder has its upsides._


	4. She'll Die Before She'll Tell You Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader pays a visit to a prisoner that Jerek is guarding.

_“I want your assurance that your soldiers can keep her where she is.”_

_“Of course, Lord Vader,” Lieutenant Watts answered quickly, stumbling nervously over his words. “Your prisoner will be quite secure, I assure you.”_

_“Good,” Vader replied._

_Suddenly, Watts was very aware that something was wrong. An increasing pressure in his ears had imposed partial deafness. He felt dizzy. His vision started to blur. Most alarmingly, he couldn’t breathe._

_Panic began to set in. He felt no grip, no touch on his neck, and yet, his windpipe was closing.In vain, he reached up to his throat, feeling nothing but his own skin. He looked back to Vader in horror and was baffled to see that he was looking the taller man in the eye. Shuffling his feet, he realized he no longer had any purchase on the floor, and was in fact hovering a full forty centimetres off of the ground._

_Vader hadn’t moved. Still as a statue, he spoke. “Failure in this will not be tolerated, Lieutenant. I trust you will remember that.”_

_Watts nodded frantically. His vision was darkening, so much so that the midnight figure of Vader had nearly disappeared against the black, durasteel walls of the office._

_All at once, Vader’s magical hold on Watts released. He dropped to the floor, landing with a dull_ thud _. He remained on his hands and knees, wheezing as his lungs were painfully refilled with air._

_Vader said nothing more. The next thing Watts could hear was the mechanical_ woosh _of his office door sliding open, followed by the heavy tread of Vader’s boots as he left. Watts coughed and hacked, each strained breath burning his bruised esophagus as his senses slowly returned. Struggling to his feet, Watts was sure of two things: first, that he hated Darth Vader, and second, that he had better make absolutely sure nothing happened to that prisoner._

* * *

The detention corridor was small, only two meters across at its widest, and hexagonal in design. It wasn’t intended to comfortably accommodate sentries standing upright outside the cells—the proper guard stations were located at connective hubs between the corridors—but Watts had been adamant.No one, under any circumstance, was to be allowed access to this cell except for Darth Vader himself—and he was supposed to arrive any minute.

Jerek didn’t know anything about the prisoner in the cell behind him, other than that she was human and female. She hadn’t made a sound since she was locked inside; a welcome change from the typical slew of pointless insults lobbed by the pirates, smugglers and other criminal scum to which Jerek had become accustomed. The cell doors were sound-dampening but not sound-proof, much to the irritation of the guards.

Jerek was roused from his musings by Darth Vader’s imminent arrival. It was the subtle drop in temperature that clued him in. Now that he had encountered Vader once before, Jerek was able to better maintain his composure, but seeing the armoured, cloaked figure approachstill sent a chill down his spine. It was a wonder that Vader could even stand upright in the corridor; his domed mask just barely fell short of the low ceiling. 

He was tailed by two engineers in coveralls and wide, black helmets that mimicked Vader’s own headgear. Drifting between them was a hovering, spherical droid, about a half-meter in diameter. Jerek’s eyes widened slightly as he noticed the array of sharp and dangerous appendages attached to the droid, including needles, exposed electrical outputs and narrow pliers. Jerek had heard of the IT-O interrogation droid before, but had never seen one in person. He didn’t envy anyone on the receiving end of its instruments. 

As Vader neared the door, the other stormtrooper on duty—Four-Twenty-One, Jerek was pretty sure—leaned over and punched a code into the cell’s access terminal. With a metallic scrape and a de-pressurizing hiss, the door slid open.

Jerek could only see into the cell with his peripheral vision, but it was enough to get a glimpse of the prisoner inside. Indeed, she was a human woman, but she was much younger than Jerek would have expected, no more than twenty standard years old at the most. Her dark hair was wrapped into two tight buns on either side of her head, and she wore a long, hooded white dress, adorned only by a silver belt at her waist.

She was standing up when the door opened, her feet squarely planted and her arms crossed defiantly. She gave no ground as Vader bent down to pass through the door and enter her cell. He gestured with his hand, and the black interrogation droid floated in to join them. 

“And now, your Highness,” Vader began, his booming baritone just as imposing as it had been in Watts’s office, “we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base.”

As if to punctuate his words, the cell door slid shut, sealing them in. 

_Rebellion royalty,_ Jerek thought in astonishment. _Maybe things are about to get interesting here after all._

Jerek had plenty of questions. Where was she from? What was her role in the Rebellion? Who was this woman so important that Darth Vader himself was performing her interrogation?

Of course, as a mere stormtrooper, it wasn’t his place to ask any such thing. He’d have to be content with those mysteries left unanswered. Whoever she was, Jerek gave her credit; judging by her muffled cries of pain, she was enduring that IT-O droid significantly longer than he expected she would have.


	5. An Effective Demonstration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerek reflects on Alderaan's destruction.

Jerek shook his head. _“Bantha-shab._ No way is that true.”

“Look it up for yourself if you don’t believe me,” Thirty-three replied, gesturing vaguely and shovelling more food into his mouth. “It’s got to be all over the holo-net by now.”

Retrieving his data-pad from his belt, Jerek skeptically typed up a search query. He was immediately presented with a plethora of media reports that confirmed Thirty-three’s claim. Astounded, Jerek began to scroll through the headlines.

_Death Star primed and ready._

_Terrorist base eradicated._

_Alderaan: the Beast behind the Beauty._

Of course, the majority of public coverage was mainly Imperial propaganda. No sane journalist would risk treason by libeling the Empire, even if it meant glossing over grisly details. Details such as the deaths of two billion Alderaanians.

_An entire planet, blown right out of space._

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” Jerek admitted, shutting off and stowing his data-pad. 

Thirty-three smirked. “Nothing’s impossible for the Empire.”

The two were seated a short distance apart at a long table in the barracks’ cafe. Jerek didn’t particularly enjoy Thirty-three’s company; he talked a little too much and his head was a little too big. There was no one else in the cafe, though, so when Jerek had arrived he had known that he was doomed to get an earful. Normally, he would have absentmindedly nodded along with whatever Thirty-three was saying while quickly finishing his rations. This time, however, Thirty-three’s tale had grabbed him from the get-go.

Jerek’s head was reeling, trying to compute the many implications of what he had learned. Alderaan, a serene and peaceful planet in the Core of the galaxy, had been vaporized by the Death Star’s super-laser. He had never heard anything but pleasant things about Alderaan. What had its people done to deserve such a fate? Had they thrown themselves in with the Rebels, as the holo-net suggested? Even if so, could _all_ Alderaanians be held accountable for that?

Jerek managed to sum up his many questions with two words: “Why Alderaan?”

Thirty-three shrugged and wiped his face with a napkin. “ _Shab_ , I don’t know. Some kind of weapons test, or demonstration, I think.”

Jerek’s eyes bulged. “A _weapons test?_ Surely an asteroid or a moon would have sufficed.”

“Would people think twice about it if they had blown up an asteroid or a moon?” Thirty-three returned. “The way I see it, the Grand Moff killed two mynocks with one stone. He showed everyone that his Death Star works, and that he isn’t afraid to use it.” 

Thirty-three raised his bowl to his lips, draining the last of his broth. Dropping the dish back down on the tray, he rose from the bench and departed without farewell, leaving Jerek alone with his thoughts.

_I knew the Grand Moff was no saint, but … two_ billion _people? Just for the sake of demonstration?_

Jerek had seen a lot in his ten years of service. He knew that the Empire wasn’t exactly benevolent, but when the Republic dissolved and the Emperor took control nearly twenty years ago, the galaxy had entered a new era of peace. For three long years before that, thousands of solar systems had been ravaged by the Clone Wars—Corellia among them. Imperial rule meant an end to the violence. It was a strict government that offered few freedoms, but how else was anyone supposed to maintain control?

That was how Jerek had viewed it, anyway. After the cloning factories had shut down, the Empire had opened its military registries to the public and welcomed recruits from all over the galaxy. For his whole adult life, Jerek had craved action and excitement. He had had no second thoughts about enlisting; he was able-bodied, unwed at the time, and he believed in the cause. Or at least, he thought he did.

_Maintaining order and stability is one thing. This … this is something else._

Jerek’s food remained uneaten on his tray. Alone in the cafe, he sat silently for a time. For ten years, Jerek had dutifully served an Empire that he believed was protecting the innocents of the galaxy. Innocents like the two billion Alderaanians who had just been obliterated.

There was saying among stormtroopers, a common motto to unite the cannon fodder: _unquestioned loyalty_. It was ingrained in the troops as early as basic training. Some used it as a greeting or as a sendoff. Others, like Jerek, had it inked onto their bodies. He had lived by the words for a decade, living and breathing Imperial doctrine since before he had even met Brie.

Today, something had changed. Today, Jerek questioned his loyalty.


	6. All My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerek writes home to his wife, Brie.

_Hi Brie,_

_How are things? I hope you and the kids are well. Thanks for the holo-vid you sent me. I can’t believe how big they’re getting. Rori looks to have grown a foot since I last saw him, and at this rate, Jaz is soon going to be walking on her own. I hope she holds off for just another couple of weeks so that maybe I can be with her when she does._

_Work is fine, thanks for asking. Bland. Or, safe, as you like to point out. It sure isdifferent than it was back home. I’ve been here almost six months and my kit is as spotless as it was when I arrived. I suppose I can’t blame you for feeling like that’s a good change._

_I went down to check out the residential zone now that it’s ready. It’s nice. Clean. Really clean, like everything else on the station. Lacking a little in comfort perhaps, but I’m sure you and the kids will find plenty of ways to make it feel like home. It’s only about a twenty-minute lift from my barracks, so the commute isn’t bad at all._

_By now I’m sure you’ve heard about Alderaan. Before you ask, no, I don’t have any more information about it. Word of that sort doesn’t make its way down all the way to little old me. In fact, I didn’t even know it had happened until I read about it on the holo-net, and I’m aboard the kriffing station. I often forget just how big this place is._

_I hope it has escaped Rori’s notice, I don’t want him thinking about stuff like that. If he does ask, tell him I’m fine, but between us, I am a little rattled. I don’t think my brain can fully wrap itself around just how many people_ two billion _is. I’m starting to think—_

Jerek frowned, and then erased his last several sentences. The letter he was composing would be delivered to his wife via Imperial holo-net servers, and he wasn’t sure what kind of filters or encryption scanners the Empire employed for outgoing liaisons. Though the thoughts he was sharing with Brie were not overtly treasonous, there was a clear undertone of shaken confidence in Imperial rule. If there was any chance that such words could flag him as treacherous, it would be best to leave them out.

_I’ll talk with her in person once she and the kids arrive,_ Jerek decided. _Unless …_

Suddenly suspicious, he glanced around the four walls of his bunk. The reflective, black surfaces were sleek and smooth, with no sign of surveillance equipment in sight. Still, there were dozens of ways to discreetly conceal monitoring systems, especially in as up-to-date a station as the Death Star.

_That’s unnerving._

He shook the thought from his mind. _One thing at a time_.

Returning his attention to the data-pad in his hands, he deleted several lines of text, deciding that it was best not to mention Alderaan at all.

_I probably won’t hear back from you before you and the kids board the transport, so please, travel safe. You’ll be on a military-grade shuttle, so you’ll have nothing to fear on the way. I’ll be on duty until a few hours after your scheduled time of arrival, but I promise I’ll come down to see you and the kids soon as I am able. Maybe I’ll even swing by the cafe first and grab some patties and broth for everyone. Surely you remember how I’ve raved about them. Now, you too can have the distinct displeasure of tasting them._

_All my love, ’til next we meet._

_Jerek_


	7. What a Piece of Junk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerek is called to monitor an unidentified freighter caught in the Alderaan system.

“Double time, troopers. _Move it!_ ”

The durasteel hallway was alive with the clattering of plastoid armour, the rhythmic tread of two-dozen boots, and Lieutenant Watts’s shrill barking. Not minutes ago, Watts had received orders to bring all available soldiers to Docking Bay 327, where a tractor beam had apparently snagged an unidentified vessel entering the Alderaan system.

_Or rather, what_ used to be _the Alderaan system._

Jerek didn’t know what the importance of this starship was, nor was it his place to ask. He was grateful for the distraction. Unfortunately, it was no longer merely boredom from which he sought reprieve. 

He was haunted by Alderaan. Somehow, it was as if he could actually hear the voices of its citizens crying out in fear and panic as their doom rained down on them from the space station in which he now marched. Time and time again, he had tried to shake their deaths from his conscience—after all, it wasn’t as if he had pulled the trigger.

_But the Empire did. And you wear its sigil._

Bay 327 was only a few meters ahead, its blast doors already open just enough that Jerek could see inside. A full unit of stormtroopers stood at attention, their backs turned to Jerek and his company. The captured vessel itself was out of sight until Jerek passed through the blast door and into the hangar, whereupon he got a full view of the ship: a large, teardrop-shaped freighter with a side-mounted cockpit. Jerek remarked with mild interest that the vessel was of Corellian design.

The fact that the freighter hailed originally from Jerek’s own homeworld was not alarming; Corellia was renowned for its shipyards, which supplied starships to all corners of the galaxy. This vessel could have come from anywhere. However, Jerek had never seen one in such rough shape as this one—and for a Corellian, that was saying something.

Lt. Watts led his troops in a crisp march into position alongside the other soldiers. Between both units, they numbered almost thirty.

_An unusually large dispatch. I wonder what the occasion is._

The last trooper had no sooner stepped into place before the hangar suddenly echoed with deep respirations, signalling the arrival of Darth Vader. He strode past the lines of stormtroopers, his black cloak brushing the toes of their boots as he passed. Halting at the base of the freighter’s exit ramp, he crossed his arms and waited.

Moments later, a uniformed staff officer stepped briskly down the ramp and presented Vader with a curt bow of his head.

“There’s no one on board, sir,” the officer reported. “According to the log, the crew abandoned ship right after takeoff.”

Vader’s dark helmet tilted slightly upwards as he looked over and past the officer, peering into the belly of the ship. 

“It must be a decoy, sir,” the officer continued. “Several of the escape pods have been jettisoned.”

“Did you find any droids?” Vader’s voice rumbled out from beneath his mask. 

“No, sir,” the officer answered. “If there were any on board, they must also have jettisoned.”

“Send a scanning crew aboard,” Vader instructed. “I want every part of this ship checked.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer responded, saluting crisply.

Vader continued to look past the shorter man into the ship. “I sense something,” he finally muttered, seemingly to himself more than to anyone else. “A presence I haven’t felt since…”

Trailing off, Vader suddenly turned sharply on his heel, sending his heavy cape billowing out behind him. With quick, long strides, he exited the hangar without another word.

The officer watched him go and then turned to his subordinates. “Get me a scanning crew in here on the double.”

Lieutenant Watts turned to face Jerek and the rest of the unit. “You two,” he said, pointing his index and middle fingers at the stormtroopers standing to Jerek’s left. “Remain here and send word as soon as they find something.”

Nodding obediently, Thirty-three and Four-Twenty-One hustled forward and took up sentry positions at the base of the freighter’s access ramp.

“Right turn,” Watts barked, and as one the remaining soldiers in Jerek’s unit swivelled to face the exit. “March!”

Filing out of the hangar, Jerek and his comrades left the unidentified vessel behind. Jerek couldn’t help lamenting the brevity of the whole ordeal. He wished he had been one of the soldiers chosen to remain with the freighter. At least then he wouldn’t have had to return to his barracks, where he knew that nothing but thoughts of Alderaan awaited him. 

_Brie and the kids will be here soon. Things will be better then._


	8. Boring Conversation Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Watts responds to a security breach in his detention block.

Lieutenant Watts’s stomach turned upside-down.

“What do you mean, _something happened?_ ”

“We aren’t sure, sir,” the junior officer admitted, “Our readout reports several bursts of plasma heat in Detention Block Ay-Ay-Twenty-Three, but we’ve lost the video feed.”

“Lost the video feed,” Watts repeated in disbelief, his heartbeat increasing. Block AA-23 was where Vader’s prisoner was detained. If anything happened to her, it would be Watts’s head on the chopping block. 

He pushed the younger man out of the way and stormed from his office to the surveillance station. When he arrived, he found several maintenance technicians already tinkering with the central console, trying to reconnect to the security cameras.

“Get them on the comm,” Watts ordered. “ _Get them on the comm!_ ”

The uniformed dispatcher already had his hand on the intercom. At the lieutenant’s outburst, he resumed toggling the button with renewed vigour. 

Watts paced back and forth through the room. “Where is my security feed?”

“The connection is fine, sir,” one of the techs answered back from underneath the console. “The issue must be on their end.”

Fuming, Watts was about to order a unit of stormtroopers up to the detention block, but was cut off by an electronic chime.

“Incoming transmission, sir,” the dispatch announced, diverting incoming audio to the console’s front speakers. Watts held his breath in anticipation. 

“Everything is under control,” came the voice through the intercom. “Situation normal.”

The voice was unfamiliar. Watts glared at the dispatcher and gestured frantically. 

“What happened?” the dispatcher asked into his headset.

“Uh …” the voice in the speaker hesitated, “had a slight weapons malfunction. But, uh, everything’s perfectly alright now. We’re fine. We’re all fine here, now, thank you.” A pause, and then: “How are you?”

Watts couldn’t believe his ears. He turned to the stormtroopers standing attentively at the door. Gesturing with his hands, he wordlessly ordered them to hurry to the detention block.

“We’re sending a squad up,” the dispatcher said.

“Uh, uh, negative,” the voice answered. “We had a reactor leak here now. Give us a few minutes to lock it down. Large leak, very dangerous.”

_Outrageous_ , Watts thought in bewilderment. _There isn’t a reactor anywhere near the detention block!_

He crossed the room and tore the headset from the dispatcher’s ears. Without putting it on, Watts spoke into the microphone. “Who is this? What’s your operating number?”

The console spewed out a noise that sounded like blaster fire before the signal suddenly went silent. Watts threw down the headset in a rage.

“I want every trooper in this sector on their way to that detention block,” he yelled at the dispatcher. “ _Now!_ ”

* * *

_“How long until I see you again, Dad?”_

_“Only a few months. It’ll fly by, you’ll join me in no time.”_

_“But that’s so far away.”_

_Jerek knelt down in front of Rori. The boy was getting so big. His sandy blonde bangs had grown almost to his eyelashes._

_“You’ve got to be strong, little one. Take care of your mother and your sister. Show them you’re a soldier, like your old man.”_

_Rori smiled at this. Jerek loved Rori’s smile. He had little dimples in his cheeks, and it made his face look so … red._

_Rori was turning red. Why was Rori red?_

_The sky became red. The ground, the Corellian cityscape—everything was red._

A piercing alarm wrenched Jerek from his slumber. Sitting upright with a start, he looked around his bunk. The room was bathed in a crimson light that pulsed in time with wailing siren that had woken him. 

_This isn’t a drill._

Jerek sprang up off his bed, yanking his armour trunk out from underneath. Unlatching and opening it, he quickly began donning his armour with the speed of a decade’s repetition. 

Garter belt. Thigh guards. Boots, then shin plates.

_I wonder what’s going on. Does it have something to do with that freighter?_

Abdominal piece next. Back and chest plates. Ammunition belt.

_Or maybe it’s something to do with Vader’s prisoner._

Left shoulder bell, bicep, and forearm. Same on the right.

Jerek slid his E-11 blaster into its holster and pulled his black gloves over his fingers. Taking his bucket in both hands, he used his foot to push the trunk back under his bed and then slid the helmet over his face.

A burst of static and then a chime signalled that his comm system was active. As soon as it was, he heard an outpour of radio chatter as he rushed out of his bunk. 

_“Come on, move it, people!”_

_“All troops report to Detention Block Ay-Ay-Twenty-Three!”_

_“This is_ not _a drill!”_

_“A high profile prisoner’s been sprung loose. She was scheduled for termination. Kill any insurgents on sight!”_


	9. We're Gonna Have Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerek responds to an emergency on the detention level.

The sharp squeals of blaster fire ahead spurred Jerek and his comrades into a sprint. Their boots clanking against the grate-like metal floor of the detention level, they raced from the turbo-lift to Block AA-23. With a flick of his thumb, Jerek primed his E-11 to fire and slid his index finger from the chassis to the trigger.

They were close enough now that they could see flashes of crimson against the durasteel walls ahead.

“Sixteen, Twenty-six, take point,” the trooper leading them ordered. She didn’t look back as they ran, but Jerek could hear her voice through his helmet comm. “Get to cover and lay down suppressive fire. Forty-one, Eleven, check the wounded. _Go, go, go!_ ”

They were about to round the corner into the fray. Even through his mask, Jerek could feel the heat of plasma in the air. It left a metallic taste in his mouth. 

Raising her blaster to her eye, the field sergeant tore around the bend, and was squarely hit bit a bolt of red, knocking her to the ground. 

Momentarily taken aback, Jerek had to hop to the side to avoid the falling figure of his felled commander. He saw Eleven kneel down to tend to her, but Forty-one was still following right behind him. Turning away, he rushed into the oncoming hail of lasers, only a meter behind Sixteen. 

Taking cover behind a computer terminal, Jerek got his first glimpse of the situation. There were several troopers here already, similarly hiding behind cover and peeking out to fire shots down the corridor when able. Shifting his attention to their quarries, he could vaguely make out four silhouettes shooting back at them from the hallway, but they too were hiding as best they could and the increasing amount of smoke in the hub made it difficult to discern any identifying details. 

“Just keep the pressure up,” a soldier’s voice instructed in his ear. “They have nowhere to go.”

Jerek risked another peek down the corridor. Despite the magnifier on his E-11, he was unable to get a clear visual. The insurgents were doing a good job of keeping out of sight.

They were, however, audible. The enhancers in his helmet were picking up voices over the din of blaster fire. Two males and one female spoke in Basic, but the fourth was communicating with growls and roars. 

_What in blazes is a Wookie doing here?_

Bits of conversation from the insurgents continued to stream in through his audio receptors.

_“_ _—_ _can’t hold them off forever—”_

_“—some rescue. When you came—plan for getting—”_

_“—the brains, sweetheart!”_

Suddenly, Jerek saw a burst of sparks from down the hallway. One of them had shot something at close-range. As he wondered what it could be, one of the combatants stepped out from cover, giving him a clear view—and a clear shot—for the first time.

Jerek prepared to squeeze the trigger and drop the target, but as soon as he registered whom he was looking at, he hesitated.

_That’s Vader’s prisoner._

Indeed, it was the dark-haired, white-robed Rebellion monarch Vader had interrogated several days ago. As Jerek’s crosshairs rested upon the woman, pieces of the puzzle came together in his mind. 

_That freighter was caught in the Alderaan system. They’re here for the woman. Could she be Alderaanian herself?_

Then, an even more disturbing realization.

_She wouldn’t talk for Vader … so they destroyed her entire planet!_

Jerek’s hands began to shake. For an instant longer, he had a clear shot at the Alderaanian woman, but he didn’t act. Instead, he watched as she seemed to jump at the wall and disappear. The three rescuers looked to be about to do the same. 

Jerek lowered his E-11 from his eye, wrestling with this new revelation. Perhaps there had been a Rebel base on Alderaan, perhaps not. Either way, condemning two billion people to die for the treasonous acts of a few is unjustifiable. It was even worse, however, if the Empire had committed genocide merely to force information from a prisoner. It was unforgivable. 

The blaster fire had stopped and the smoke was beginning to clear. The other troopers were standing up from behind cover and making their way cautiously toward the corridor. Jerek roused himself from his thoughts and followed his comrades to take a look at where the insurgents had gone.

What they found in the hallway was a metal grate, about a meter in width, and a gaping hole present where it had been blasted at point-blank range. Through the grate, a disposal chute disappeared into darkness. From behind them, the field sergeant was approaching, supported under her shoulder by Eleven and sporting a charred blaster wound on her chest plate.

“It’s a garbage chute, ma’am,” one of the troopers reported. “Should we prep a team to follow?”

The voice that answered was not hers. It was male, cold as durasteel and approaching with brisk, sharp boot steps. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Tarkin said, closing the distance and observing the garbage chute himself. The Grand Moff folded his hands behind his back and smiled thinly. “We have other plans for them.”


	10. Our Moment of Triumph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empire capitalizes on its escaped prisoner.

Governor Tarkin was a sight to behold. He was the highest ranking officer in the Imperial military; the Emperor had created the title of Grand Moff specially for him. He was well along in his years, easily over seventy standard years old, yet he was fit as a whistle and his razor-sharp mind hadn’t dulled in the slightest. His bearing was akin to a skeleton's; a slender frame with pronounced cheekbones and thin lips. Still, his cold gaze could inspire fear in even the hardiest of troopers.

“Awaiting orders, sir,” the field sergeant said, raising a hand in salute despite her injury.

Tarkin peered through the grate and down the chute. Without looking back at the soldiers, he said, “Send word to maintenance. I want this garbage masher activated.”

Jerek was stunned. He couldn’t imagine a more horrible way to die than being crushed in a garbage disposal unit.

The sergeant hesitated only a moment before answering. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell them,” Tarkin continued, “to monitor the video feed. Just before the Rebels are killed, shut down the machine and unseal the access hatch. It is imperative that they make it back to their ship, but without the impression that we are letting them go.” 

If the sergeant felt any confusion, she hid it well. “Yes, sir,”

As she turned away to relay Tarkin's message, Jerek heard the sound of more footsteps approaching. Another uniformed officer was stepping toward them, followed closely by two additional stormtroopers. 

“Grand Moff,” the new arrival said, bowing his head. “You sent for me?”

“I did,” Tarkin replied, turning to face him. “I’m reassigning this unit to your command, General Bast.”

Looking around the detention level, Bast asked, “This is Lieutenant Watts’s unit, is it not?”

“It was,” Tarkin answered, smiling dryly. “Lord Vader has gone to discuss with him the matter of his escaped prisoner. I'm afraid Lieutenant Watts will be … quite unable to lead from this point onward.”

Bast bowed again. “Understood, sir.” 

Jerek was trying to understand the rationale behind Tarkin’s instructions. Why would he intentionally allow the prisoner and her rescuers to escape? 

The question was answered only moments later.

“Deliver this tracking fob to the command bridge,” Tarkin said to Bast, handing him a small, blinking device. “Have them prepare the station for hyperspace travel. The fob will present us with our co-ordinates shortly.”

Jerek clued in. _He’s tracking their ship._

It was a smart move. As long as the beacon was sufficiently hidden, the Rebels would lead the Empire straight to their destination and be none the wiser. Furthermore, if it happened to be some kind of Rebel base or hideout, it would be right in the Death Star’s crosshairs.

_They’ll be sitting ducks. It’s not like they can move their planet someplace else._

Jerek was now beginning to grasp the true scope of power that the Empire’s new weapon offered. When entire planets could be destroyed, truly there was nowhere for their enemies to hide. 

_But should anyone be allowed to command such power?_

“I would like you to remain in the command bridge while my orders are executed,” Tarkin continued, “to ensure that no mistakes are made. This may be our chance to rid the galaxy of this Rebel scum once and for all.”

“Yes, sir,” Bast replied. “I’ll head up straight away.”

“Take some extra soldiers with you, in case you run into our escaping combatants en route,” Tarkin advised. “Inform me when you have discerned their ultimate destination.”

Nodding, Bast pointed at Jerek and Sixteen. “You two. Follow me.”

As Jerek turned to leave, audible echoes drifted up from the garbage chute. At first, they sounded panicked and alarmed, but soon it became clear that they were in fact cheers of joy and relief.

_The garbage masher must have just turned off._

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. “That’s your queue,” he said, turning to the injured field sergeant. “You have your orders. And tell your troops to put on a good show. We want the Rebels to escape, but we mustn’t tarnish the reputation of our military in the process.”

“Understood, sir,” the sergeant answered, separating herself from Eleven and standing gingerly on her own. “Let’s move it, soldiers.”

* * *

Jerek and company arrived at the command bridge without incident, but he could hearof the Rebels’ progress in real time via his helmet radio. The insurgents had left the detention level with guns blazing, blasting their way all the way back up to Docking Bay 327. The stormtroopers had performed their roles well, but they had suffered casualties; it pained Jerek each time he heard a soldier go down, mostly since he knew that they were under orders to spare their quarries. 

_It’s one thing to die for a cause_. _Another to die for a charade._

When all was said and done, the mysterious freighter had taken off and left the Death Star with the rescued prisoner on board. Moments after they departed the docking bay, the freighter launched into hyperspace and the waiting game began. The tracking fob relayed the vessel's current position, and from that the crew could infer a trajectory, but it wouldn't be until the Rebels reached their destination that the Empire could be sure of where they were heading. Hours passed before their patience was rewarded.

“General Bast,” one of the bridge crew reported. “They've just dropped out of light speed.”

"Good," answered Bast, walking over to the terminal at which they sat. "Where have they ended up?"

"In the Outer Rim,” another chimed in. "Retrieving co-ordinates ... we have them."

General Bast leaned forward and read the data over the crewman’s shoulder. “The Yavin system?”

“Yes, sir,” the crewman replied. “A gas giant. Twenty-six moons.”

“An ideal location for a hidden base,” Bast observed. “Very well. Alert Governor Tarkin and prime our hyperdrive generator. We’re going to pay the Rebels in the Yavin system a little visit.”


	11. One in a Million

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Death Star prepares to destroy the Rebels' secret base.

_“How long until I see you again, Dad?”_

_“Only a few months. It’ll fly by, you’ll join me in no time.”_

_“But that’s so far away.”_

_Rori began to cry. Seeing his boy’s face crinkled and wet tore at Jerek’s heart._

_“You’ve got to be strong, little one. Take care of your mother and your sister. Show them you’re a soldier, like your old man.”_

_Rori was supposed to smile then, but he didn’t. He only continued to cry. Jerek frowned and reached out to take his son’s shoulders in an embrace, but instead he found that his hands passed right through Rori’s body._

_Confused, Jerek looked from his fingers back to his son. He saw now that his wife Brie was there too, holding their infant daughter Jaz in her elbow. She took Rori against her hip, and he sobbed into her clothes._

_“Be strong,” Jerek whispered. “Be strong.”_

* * *

“Grand Moff,” a younger officer called out as she bustled through the bridge toward him, “Grand Moff, we have an update.”

“Proceed,” Tarkin responded.

A holo-map of the Yavin system flickered into the air from a projector in the younger officer’s palm. 

“Our heat scanners have traced the freighter’s path to the fourth moon,” she explained, pointing at one of the hovering dots between them. “Shortly, we’ll have more specific co-ordinates for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tarkin said dismissively, waving her away. “General Bast, how long will it take our hyperdrive engine to refuel?”

“Several hours, sir,” Bast answered, reading data from a tablet in his hands, “but if we maintain our current trajectory, Yavin Four will be in range of our super-laser in just forty-five minutes.”

Tarkin’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Very well. I want a live feed, General Bast.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, transferring the digital readout from his tablet to the bridge’s central viewport.

Jerek stood ceremoniously at the bridge’s main blast door. His current post was as unnecessary as nearly every other he’d had over the last six months, but in this moment he felt anything but bored.

For two and a half days the Death Star had travelled through hyperspace, following the co-ordinates provided by the tracking fob and the beacon planted aboard the Rebel freighter. Since Jerek and his fellows were reassigned to General Bast, he had spent all of his on-duty hours here in the command bridge. For the entire sixty-hour trip, very little had transpired, but as soon as the station arrived in the Yavin system, the tracking signal went cold, indicating that the Rebels had found and disabled the beacon. The command bridge had burst into action and not slowed since. 

Similarly, Jerek’s own head was swimming with thoughts about his situation. For ten years, he had loyally served the Empire, only for his allegiance to falter dramatically over the course of a week. The echoes of Alderaan had continued to linger in his mind, but today they seemed to yell, to shout as if warning him of something terrible on the horizon. 

_The Empire is going to destroy another planet. And I’m going to have a front-row seat._

He needed to talk to Brie. He had kept his emotions bottled up for fear of Imperial eavesdroppers, but he couldn’t take it anymore. It was burning him up from the inside out. Unfortunately, the Death Star’s short-notice voyage to the Outer Rim had delayed his family’s arrival. They were meant to come aboard a day ago, but their first transport had been cancelled, and their new one wouldn’t leave until tomorrow. From now, it would take them nearly another week to arrive.

_Or maybe all four of us just get right back on the transport and get the_ shab _out of here._

Of course, it couldn’t be that simple. Leaving the Empire was a complicated—and lengthy—affair. Even if he did decide to retire, he wouldn’t actually be discharged for many months. Years, even. The Empire had little sympathy for those who were no longer dedicated to the cause.

_And yet, it’s that very cause that forced me to leave._

In truth, Jerek felt cheated. The frivolous destruction of Alderaan had been the instigator of his disenchantment, but indeed the whole ordeal had revealed to him a number of red flags he had overlooked in the past. Prisoners-of-war who were inhumanely treated, citizens’ rights that were tossed aside. Along the way, Jerek had rationalized the unsavoury work in which he had taken part, holding firm to the idea that a strict, all-powerful government would be the galaxy’s greatest chance at peace and security. But Alderaan had known no peace or security, and it never could again. Now, anyone living on Yavin Four was about to face the same fate.

A deep, rasping breath interrupted his thoughts. Jerek’s skin chilled as Darth Vader entered the bridge, passing between the two guards and approaching Tarkin. 

“Lord Vader,” Tarkin said by way of greeting. “You’ve informed the Emperor of our current course?”

“I have,” Vader answered, and then he turned to face the viewport. “This will be a day long remembered. It has seen the end of Kenobi, and it will soon see the end of the Rebellion.”

Jerek didn’t know who or what this ‘Kenobi’ was, but the arrival of Darth Vader was the last thing he needed right now. Because of the way he felt when Vader was around, Jerek had come to view the man as evil incarnate. Now, Jerek saw the evil Vader and the heartless Tarkin, standing together side-by-side, eager to watch the destruction of another helpless planet.

_This. This is what you have been fighting for all these years. This is whom you have been serving._

Jerek felt as though he were about to vomit. 

“Grand Moff,” one of the bridge crew piped up urgently, “my lord, our scanners are picking up several spacecraft approaching the station. We count thirty. They’re coming in at an attack vector.”

Tarkin laughed, a dry, mirthless chuckle. “How amusing. One could admire their spirit, no matter how futile it may be.” Then, to another group of crewmen, “Arm the turbo-lasers.”

“Weapons primed,” the younger officer reported.

The readout showed twenty-five minutes until the moon was in range of the super-laser. As time rolled on, Jerek watched the live feed as several Rebel starfighters were picked off by the Death Star’s defence cannons. After a time, though, it became clear that the auto-turrets were insufficient to eliminate the Rebels’ nimble craft.

“We’ll have to destroy them ship-to-ship,” Vader told the bridge staff. “Get the crews to their fighters.”

As the bridge continued to bustle with activity, Vader turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. 

Fifteen minutes left until Yavin Four was in range. 

_Fifteen minutes left for those helpless people to live._

The live feed continued to report as several squadrons of Imperial TIE fighters were deployed to confront the Rebel ships. Leading them was Darth Vader. At an earlier time, Jerek would have marvelled at Vader’s piloting talent and cheered him on for the glory of the Empire. Jerek was not motivated to do so now. 

Five minutes left.

Jerek had been so caught up both with the live feed and with his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed General Bast in hushed, concerned discussion with two analysis officers. Grimly, Bast crossed the bridge to speak with Tarkin. He said something to the older man, but it was too quiet for Jerek’s audio receptors to pick up. 

Tarkin looked at Bast with disbelief. “Evacuate?” he exclaimed. “In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances.” 

As Tarkin turned back to the viewport and Bast stepped away, Jerek knew that the Grand Moff was right. The Rebels were doomed. There was nothing they could do to save themselves from the Empire’s ultimate weapon. 

“Rebel base, three minutes and closing,” one of the bridge crew announced.

Jerek looked over to Sixteen, who was standing on the other side of the blast door. As he did, she noticed him and turned her head in his direction. Neither of them said anything; they simply shared an expression-less look through their white, plastoid helmets, and then returned their gaze to the live feed.

Two minutes. One.

“Rebel base, in range,” the crewman called out.

“You may fire when ready,” Tarkin instructed.

This was it. In a few moments, a second planet would be wiped from the galaxy. Jerek’s stomach churned. He knew now without doubt that he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t serve an Empire that so easily threw away the innocent lives of its citizens.

Jerek brought himself to take one final look at the blue and green moon through the viewport as the station’s super-laser powered up, and then, in a spectacular implosion of white-hot fire, the Death Star exploded.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Palpatine addresses the public, and Brie consoles her children.

_“On this day, the vermin who call themselves Rebel Alliance have ventured too far out of the rat’s hole from which they scheme. No longer will we tolerate their insubordination in our otherwise peaceful Empire. No longer will we show any mercy!”_

Scattered cheers rose up from the assembled masses. The speaker was Sheev Palpatine, Supreme Chancellor of the former Republic and Emperor of the civilized galaxy. Of course, Palpatine was not actually present here on Corellia. He was delivering his speech from a public balcony on Coruscant, the heart of the Empire. Brie and the other gathered Corellians were listening to an oversized, static-ridden hologram of the robed man as his words were broadcast across the stars. 

She heard a whimper from her arm, and looked down to see Jaz’s big, almond eyes gazing mournfully up at her, her tiny lip quivering.

“Shhh, don’t fret,” Brie cooed her, stifling back her own tears as she spoke. “We won’t be out long.” 

_“Even now, our most advanced surveillance probes are scouring the galaxy,”_ Emperor Palpatine’s hologram continued. _“It is my promise to you, citizens of the Empire, those who would do you harm will be found and terminated!”_

Another round of cheers from the crowd. Brie looked down at her leg, where her five-year-old son Rori was hugging her hip. He didn’t understand what Palpatine was saying. He didn’t even know that his father was gone.

_How do you explain that to a child? How do you tell your son that he’ll never see his father again?_

Her heart breaking, she looked back to the infant she held. _And Jaz … you never even got to know him._

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill from her eyelids. Biting her lip, she managed to keep them at bay.

“What’s he saying, Mama?” Rori’s quiet voice drifted up from below. 

“He’s …” she began. It took her a moment to compose her words. “He’s saying that he’ll keep us safe. That he’ll protect us.”

“Like Dad?” Rori asked.

A short cry loosed itself from Brie’s lips before she caught it. “Yes,” she struggled to say. “Yes, like your Dad.”

Unable to speak anymore, she pulled Rori close, pressing his face against her side and returning her attention to Palpatine. 

_“Today will be remembered as one of great sadness,”_ the hologram went on, _“as we remember those who were lost to this heinous terrorist attack. Our hearts go out to the familiesof all who perished on board the intergalactic space station. But let it be known, that their deaths will not be in vain! With this unforgivable act, the Rebel traitors have sealed their own fates. Ridding the galaxy of their filth will be our forces’ top priority!”_

Applause and cheers rose up from the assembled Corellians. The crowd had increased in size over the duration of the Emperor’s speech.

_“Soon, the Rebel scum will be nothing more than a hideous memory in the history of our great Empire!”_

Cheers swelled again, each time with increasing enthusiasm. 

Brie found herself caught up in the fervour. Briefly, her grief was overtaken by anger. Anger toward the Rebels, the so-called freedom fighters, who despite proclaiming liberty for all had just deprived a million beings of their lives. Anger toward the Rebels, who had taken it upon themselves to decide who is fit to live and who should die. Anger toward the Rebels, who had robbed her of her husband and her children of their father.

_Rebel scum._

But, as quickly as it had risen, her anger faded, giving way to the unyielding weight of her sorrow. But from the depths of her grief, she found a glimmer of determination and seized it. There would be time for anger later. For now, she had to take care of her kids. Rori and Jaz had only her now to depend on, and she couldn’t allow her resentment toward the terrorists to distract her from their well-being. 

Hugging her children closer to her, she looked back to the hologram of Palpatine. He had finished his speech and was waving farewell to his adoring citizens. Times ahead would be tough, but she had to have hope. Hope that, with the support of the Empire, her family would pull through. Hope that her kids might grow up in a galaxy free of fighting and war. Hope that the cause to which her husband had dedicated his entire life—and indeed, laid it down—would triumph.


End file.
